The Intern Who Reported the Boss, Not Knowing the Boss Signs Her Salary Chapter 09

The Intern Who Reported the Boss, Not Knowing the Boss Signs Her Salary Chapter 09

I pushed open the CEO office door. Everything inside had 

changed. 

The warm wood tones I used to love were gone, replaced by 

cold black–and–white minimalism. 

Weird abstract art hung on the walls. 

Colton’s style. He’d been copying the look from business magazines, trying to mimic success, but all it radiated was 

stiffness and chill. 

My jaw tightened. 

Three years of neglect had let rot spread through the company. 

Colton and Brielle were just the visible rot. The real damage went deeper and I was going to dig out every last bit of it. 

Half an hour later, Derek knocked and stepped inside. 

He stood by the desk, visibly unsure, his hands not quite 

knowing where to land. 

“Ms. Whitfield. You wanted to see me?” 

“Sit, Derek.” I gestured toward the sofa and walked over myself, pouring him a glass of water. “Relax. It’s not our first 

conversation.” 

He took the glass and settled stiffly on the edge of the couch. 

“Ms. Whitfield, about what happened today…” He trailed off. 

“It’s done,” I cut in. “Let’s talk business. The Westfield 

project. Where are we?” 

The moment I shifted to the work, the tension left his shoulders. Confidence lit him up from the inside. 

“On track. The main design phase is complete, and client feedback has been excellent. We’re just refining some details. 

The final package should be ready to submit next week.” 

“Good.” I nodded. I’d never doubted him. “And the new client? What’s the word from William?” 

“He sent over the contact. It’s a boutique hotel brand that’s been getting serious buzz… The Cloudveil. They’re looking to convert an old warehouse on the outskirts into a mixed–use space. Lodging, dining, an art exhibition wing. Budget’s healthy. And they’ve got high expectations on design.” 

“The Cloudveil.” I turned the name over in my mind. I knew their reputation. Big with younger crowds. Sharp aesthetic. 

Bold concepts. 

“This project is critical,” I said, holding his gaze. “I want you leading it personally. Pull the best designers we have. I don’t just want us to land it, I want us to own it. This is our first real statement since the shake–up.” 

“Understood.” Derek’s nod was firm. The fire in his eyes was 

back. 

“But,” I added, “I don’t want anyone on this team who 

coasted under Brielle. No one who advanced by flattery instead 

of work.” 

Derek’s expression flickered. 

I kept my tone even but unyielding. “Derek, I know you’re a decent guy. You hate making enemies. But this is a pivotal 

moment. The company needs a real overhaul. You’re the design director. This cut has to come from you.” 

He went quiet. 

I understood the struggle. He’d mentored many of those 

young designers himself. Even the ones who’d strayed, he still felt some attachment. 

“Let me play you something,” I said. 

I pulled out my phone and hit play on a recording. 

Brielle’s voice spilled out, her and a few junior designers, in the break room. 

“…Derek’s design philosophy is practically fossilized. He just recycles the same old concepts…” 

“Right? If he didn’t have seniority, someone would’ve 

replaced him as director ages ago.” 

Derek’s knuckles went white around his glass. 

I stopped the recording and watched him. 

“Going soft on people who’d stab you in the back? That’s just being cruel to yourself. Some people don’t deserve your 

mercy.” 

A long pause. Then he drew a deep breath and lifted his head, his eyes solid again. 

“Ms. Whitfield. I get it. I know what I have to do.” 

I nodded, satisfied. “Good. Prepare a list for me. I want the whole company to see what happens at Apex when you choose 

to coast instead of contribute.” 

It was going to be brutal. 

But this ship had been drifting off course for too long. To steer 

it back, I had to cut away the rotted masts and lines.